


You are...?

by SarbearOkami



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Gen, Malnutrition, Near Death Experiences, Not Canon Compliant, One Shot, Prison, Sad with a Happy Ending
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-06
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2021-02-22 16:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22585741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SarbearOkami/pseuds/SarbearOkami
Summary: He knows him. Knows him to be different, because he broke the monotony after five long years.//Just a oneshot. Non-CF Ferdie gone wrong angst basically.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	You are...?

**Author's Note:**

> It's 12am I just wanted to be an edgy bich.

He recognises him almost instantly. He knows every face that has walked past him in this prison, wardens and officers and inmates alike. He knows their schedule, how long it takes for them to trek a corridor, how long the screams and blows last. He knows the faces of those who know they wouldn't be returning to their cell, and the faces of those who don't yet know how unfortunate they were to be here. And he knows the incongruous royal blue of the Kingdom flag amongst the red insignia of the Empire that adorned the halls and officers. With his pale, spindly hands he grasps the bars weakly. "You… I know you."

His words draw the attention of the burly, bloody man that stalks past his cell. He stiffens, like he was yet to encounter someone in this place that didn't yell a warcry or scream in fear. When he turns, he sees that his face is mostly the same, the addition of an eyepatch indicating a rough battle, dark circles under the other showing many nights of lost sleep. Unkempt, unruly hair just grazing his wide shoulders, yet still as blonde as his Academy days. His expression, devoid of sympathy, of compassion, showing acute unfamiliarity as he flicks his spear clean of blood. "You are… Dimitri. The Blue Lions leader. The Kingdom heir."

Perhaps it was the casual way he only said Dimitri's first name, or his prioritisation of his status as a house leader of that of his country, but a flicker of suspicion enters Dimitri's eyes. His grasp tightens, edging the spear's tip in the direction of the dark cell. "Who…"

"Who, indeed? I have not heard my own name in years. Things like that become obsolete here." His throat hurts, voice cracking from dehydration and disuse. It was true, it had been years since someone had addressed him by his given name. Though he feels, in the end, he would rather not hear his name in the filthy mouths of those that torture those below them. He feels a disconnect with it now, the mere thought of it conjuring the feeling of a past life, a comfortable life where he could sit in a garden and drink tea in the afternoon sun. "You are… taller than I remember. I could have sworn we were around the same height at Garreg Mach."

He watches Dimitri's face break its composure for a second, almost able to see his mind scrambling for an identity in his memory of years past. Though he knows he wouldn't be able to find it. He hasn't seen his reflection in five years, but he knows when he runs his hands over his face and body, that it is gaunt and shrivelled, that he is tired and sallow and sick. That his hair, once vibrant and soft, grows dull and thinly to his waist, cloaking his thin silhouette in a dirty halo. And he can feel it even now, in the way his knees tremble just standing up, that he is the weakest he had ever been. How could Dimitri ever make the connection, when he had become the antithesis of the image he had five years ago. "I can see your mind working, but you do not have to strain yourself. I do not think I am worth remembering anymore."

He laughs, and it almost sounds like a cough instead. "Perhaps it is better this way. I have already been disgraced enough. Let the people remember me for what I was, and not what I am."

Dimitri's eye roams his face, piecing together information like a puzzle. He reaches through the bars and tugs at a lock of dull hair. "You speak like a disgraced noble. Yet you are no noble of the Kingdom, I can tell. And this hair- hm."

He yanks his handful of hair enough to pull the other flush against the bars. The tip of his spear drifts up to point at one of his brown eyes. "Could you be… an Aegir?"

"Ah, I have not heard my family name since I came here. I would say it sounds rather splendid from you, but I have the feeling that it disgusts you." He replies, eyeing up the steel point that threatens him before meeting Dimitri's eye. "If you are going to kill me, I would prefer you do it sooner than later."

"You won't even give me the satisfaction of a plea?" Dimitri asks. The spear pokes into his cheek now, drawing blood that trickles down the steel.

"What is there to beg for? My family is dead, my assets taken, my friends despise me, and Edelgard decided I should rather rot in a prison than be executed for not respecting her ideals and her leadership. What do I have to look forward to, after you leave? I assume you have killed the guards. Do you think I would prefer starving to death than dying at your hands?" He replies in a biting tone, years of accumulated bitterness leaking into his voice. His eyes burn like his body attempts to cry in frustration. "This place is nothing more than a place of suffering. Is it too much to ask that someone, my own country's enemy, put me out of my misery rather than having to endure several weeks of this further? You hate her, do you not? You hate the Empire, do you not? Then take out your frustrations on me, I am sure we will both be satisfied with the outcome."

The spear abruptly drops to point to the floor, his hair freed. Dimitri takes a step away from the bars and his lips curl into a scowl. "You think I would be satisfied killing a half-dead noble? I want that woman's head staked on the end of my spear. I would parade it across Enbarr and hang it from the gates for everyone to see."

"That would be quite a sight." He says. His posture slumps as his knees begin to give way, grip on the bars tightening the best he could. "I never wanted this. I never thought this was the way to do it. But she did it anyway, and just expected the rest of us to follow her. I was… the only one who ever bothered to bring it up, and now look at where that got me."

He sinks to his knees now, forehead pressing against the cold bars. His hands slip from his grip and fall into his lap. "You can do it now. This is my plea. From one soldier to another."

Silence fills the area as he waits for the blow, to feel steel pierce his flesh and send him into the void. Dimitri takes a step forward and braces his hand on the bars. "Move back."

He moves back, just shy of the centre of his small cell. He considers this to be impractical for an execution, but doesn't dare to mention it to Dimitri. Metal scrunches under Dimitri's hand as he grasps it with inhuman strength, metallic squealing when he rips the cell door right off its hinges. He still waits for the hand to come down and end him, but it never comes as Dimitri grabs him by the scruff of his threadbare rags and drags him from the cell. A million gruesome possibilities appear in his mind, sudden regret at the potential of a cruel slow death instead of a fast execution. He wants to cry, yell in frustration, yet is stifled by the lack of breath in his chest as Dimitri hoists him over his shoulder like a flour sack.

"W-Why?" He manages with a small breath. He beats his weak fists against Dimitri's armoured back. "I said a quick death. What are you planning?"

Dimitri simply adjusts his grip. "You opposed that woman, yet you also worked with her. I am not going to kill you, you are going to help me kill her. Do you understand, Ferdinand?"


End file.
